Rosalie's Revenge, Served Cold
by TwiCanonFodder
Summary: Rose gives Bella an edited version of Royce's murder. Here's the whole story about what transpired that night. Rated M for violence, language, and references to rape.


**Twilight Canon Fodder Challenge**

**Title: Rosalie's Revenge, Served Cold**

**Contest Category (Rookie/Vet): Vet**

**Characters/Pairing: Rosalie**

**Canon Type (Book/Movie): Book**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Twilight**_** or these beautiful characters. Sole copyright of that material belongs to SM. No copyright infringement intended. Any original ideas presented within this story are the sole property of this author.**

**Summary: Rose gives Bella an edited version of Royce's murder. Here's the whole story about what transpired that night. Rated M for violence, language, and references to rape.**

**To see other entries in the Canon Fodder Challenge, please visit the C2 page:**

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Canon_Fodder_Challenge/79719/**

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**Rochester, 1934**

**Rosalie's POV**

The wedding dress arrived the day after I disposed of the last co-conspirator; the only one left was Royce. I dashed up to my room the minute the package arrived and tore it open immediately. Edward was downstairs playing stormily on his piano, the music growing louder and more violent with my increased excitement. He was such a hypocrite. He had no right to judge me after what he did for all those years. Besides, I couldn't be bothered with his anger today. Tonight I would quench my thirst for revenge and bring Royce to justice.

The dress was perfect, exactly to my specifications. The train and skirt were much shorter than I would have wanted on my own wedding gown; but in the pursuit of practicality, I asked the seamstress to craft a knee-length dress with a train that reached my ankles. It was highly improper, really; nothing that anyone would ever wear down the aisle. The bodice was crafted from the finest silk, gathered around the waist and accented by sparkling rhinestones. Above my left breast was an embroidered and jewel-encrusted broken heart. It was dramatic, of course, but that was the point. It was all about setting the scene. And the dress highlighted every angle of my perfected body, allowing me full movement to hunt, torture and kill my prey.

As I slipped into the gown, I anticipated the way his heart would race when he saw me. In my immortal perfection, I wondered if his fear would be equally mingled with desire. Would I have the control to be able to play with him? I hoped so. I saved him for last to build my stamina and teach myself patience. My demise hadn't been quick. It had been tortuously slow, in fact. Royce would get no easy death from me. He would beg me for mercy, a gift I would refuse time and again.

"Please," a soft voice at my door said. Edward stood staring at me. "Reconsider this."

"Why?" I asked. "What gives _you_ the right to judge me?"

"I'm not judging you, Rosalie," he said. "You will regret this."

"I promise you, I won't."

"In fifty years?" he asked, his voice rising. "A hundred? Will there never come a time when you will regret ending these lives?"

"Never." The word hung between us as we stared at each other. I knew he was reading my thoughts, my anticipation. I didn't care. No matter what he saw in my mind, he would never understand fully. Suddenly, he was in the room, inches from my face. His beautiful features were twisted in anger. He approached me so quickly, I instinctively crouched and hissed defensively.

"You think killing him will fulfill the debt he owes you? That it will somehow make up for what he took from you?" he hissed, anger seething out of every word.

"Nothing will right that wrong," I whispered. "This is for _me_. I _deserve_ justice."

He snorted and turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"And you think this qualifies as justice?"

"It's what I want," I said simply, rising and smoothing out the white satin of my dress.

"If that's enough for you . . ." he whispered, trailing off.

I growled and ran around him, blocking the doorway. He regarded me calmly, arms folded in front of him. I hated him in that moment.

"This isn't about you, Edward Cullen," I snarled. "I'm not playing god with these men. They stole my life! My chance at happiness and humanity! Don't throw your guilt at me and pretend to understand my motives!"

He stared at me for a moment and then calmly walked past me, never saying another word. His superiority was laughable. He thought he could compare his bloodlust to my hunt for justice? He knew nothing of what I had suffered. The men I had killed and the one that was left deserved nothing less than what I gave them. They were the monsters . . . not me! Regardless of Edward's preaching, I was going to finish what I started -- and I had left the best until last.

After Edward left, I pulled the door shut and admired myself. I knew the closed door wouldn't keep him out of my head, but I knew that he wouldn't bother me again. I regarded my perfect image in the mirror, pausing over the parts of my body that the men paid the most attention to as they beat and raped me. I smiled as I thought back on the way the others had pleaded and begged, blubbering and incoherent in their fear. Royce's fear would be doubled when he saw me like this: his discarded bride come back from the dead to avenge her own murder. I hoped that he had heard of the others' deaths and knew someone was coming for him. My enjoyment would be even greater if Royce was waiting for me.

* * *

It didn't take me long to ferret out where he was hiding. I already knew every building in the city his family owned; it was just a matter of tracking his scent. I left our house just after nightfall, my gown covered by a long trench coat, and ran through forest to the edge of town sniffing for clues. I slowed as I approached the city and began walking through the alleyways and dark passages searching for my prey.

His scent was strong, pungent with fear. I smiled. Word had gotten to Royce and he knew that justice was seeking him out. I climbed to the top of a building so that I could move faster without notice. I arrived at the building where he was hiding in no time, an old warehouse that his family owned for storing their varied and forgotten treasures.

Breaking into the bottom floor was easy. The sturdy metal lock crumbled easily in my hand. I wrenched the door open slowly, allowing the rusty hinges to squeal loudly. I heard movement on the floor above me and crouched low behind some wooden crates, watching the doors across the room. Two armed guards came out of the door, looking for the source of the noise. They saw the door still open and began looking around the alleyway for signs of the intruder. It was a shame that two more had to die, but I didn't consider anyone associated with Royce worth my pity. I shrugged out of my trench coat, leaving it balled up on the floor behind the wooden crates, and walked over to the guards.

"Hello, boys," I breathed, my face just between their square shoulders.

They turned around with their weapons drawn. When they looked at me, their arms dropped slowly to their sides and their mouths hung open. I could feel the lust rolling off of them, despite the fear I inspired. I laughed and then flashed behind them, shutting the door and blocking out the lamplight from the street. In no time, I had both of their weapons; I didn't need any more nosy humans interrupting my fun because they heard gunfire. Also, I worried that a stray bullet might nick one of the humans, inciting my bloodlust. It was better if they didn't have access to their weapons. I didn't waste time killing them; I strangled them both at the same time, eager to get to Royce. Now that I was here, I didn't want to wait any longer for my justice.

When they were dead, I listened to see if he had any other guards in the warehouse. The only sound I heard was Royce's panicked heartbeat and his whimpering cries to the guards, wondering why they wouldn't answer him.

"Harry!" he called. "Bob! Where are you? Answer me, dammit!"

I flashed up the steps and stood outside the door, listening to him pace back and forth in the room. The door in front of me was thick black steel, clearly once used as a vault. The metal spindle handle on the door would turn easily under my grip and I could simply pull the door off its hinges. But that would be too quick. Royce wanted to learn patience and I would teach it to him if it was the last thing he learned.

"Hush, Royce," I cooed. "Harry and Bob are dead; they're not coming back."

The silence was filled with a hammering heartbeat.

"Who the hell are you?" he stammered. "This door is locked tight; you'll never get to me."

"Oh, but I will," I crooned. "You'll just have to be _patient_."

He took a sharp, deep breath and his heart skipped a beat. He was more than afraid; he was petrified. I wondered if the fear was making him guess at my identity . . . would he even come close to guessing before I got to him?

"I'm hurt that you don't recognize my voice, Royce," I said, running my nails against the metal door hard enough that the sound filled the room. "Still, I can't blame you. _So_ much has changed since last winter, including me."

"No," he breathed. His heart pounded harder and his breath became ragged.

I gripped the handle of the locking mechanism and began to pull on it. It moved easily in my grip and the gears inside the door began groaning and snapping. The door would be open in just a few seconds. I could hear Royce inside the room scrambling along the floor, his feet and hands slipping along the concrete as he tried to get away from the door.

"What are you doing?" he squeaked. "That door weighs nearly a thousand pounds. You can't move it."

"Oh, but I can," I hissed. I grunted as the locks gave out and I felt the door click open.

He heard it too. Soft moans escaped his mouth as he began to cry. He knew that I was coming in now and that he had no escape. I began to laugh as I slowly pushed the door open.

There was a single light in the room, shining down on his surroundings. I noted quickly that he hadn't spared his comfort in his hideaway. The room was furnished with plush chairs and couches, a rich looking table, and even a bar with all of his favorite hard liquors. I sneered as I looked at the half empty bottle on the bar; I wanted him sober when I killed him. I would have to take my time until he was completely lucid.

Royce was curled in a corner of the room. When he saw me, his bladder let loose and he began wailing incoherently. I pulled the door closed with a bang and frowned at Royce. He was pathetic, so much less than the man he pretended to be. As he sat there in his own piss, I thought back to Edward's comments from this afternoon and wondered if this miserable excuse for a man was even worth my time. The memories of that winter night came back full force then, crashing down on me and strengthening my resolve. I walked slowly into the light, letting it sparkle off the jewels on my gown. With a burst of speed I was within inches of his face.

"Hello, darling," I breathed. "I've come back to you."

I batted my eye lashes at him and pouted my lips. He stared at me, horrified. His lips pulled back in a sneer of terror.

"Rose?" he asked, his eyes squinting. "Is that you, honey?"

I slapped him hard on his ear, avoiding his mouth for fear of making it bleed.

"_Don't _call me 'honey.'"

I picked him up by his shirt and threw him onto his couch, reveling in the terror that was wide in his eyes. He held his hands up over his face, begging me for mercy already. Laughing, I walked across the cement floor, my heels clicking as I went.

"Did you think you could hide?" I asked. "Did you think I wouldn't find you? All of the others were just practice for you."

I was careful to slip out of my high-heeled shoes before kicking him; this evening would be over far too quickly if I made him bleed. The ball of my foot connected with his gut, knocking the couch over with the force of my blow. I saw him curled up behind the couch, his gasps for air coming in grunts and wheezing groans. I walked around the couch and stood looking at him, his forehead on the floor and his wet ass in the air. So vulnerable, so weak. I smiled and kicked him again, sprawling him facedown on the floor. I planted my heel in the small of his back and bent over so I was inches from his ear.

"You're going to beg me to kill you before this night is over," I whispered, the fire building in my throat as I breathed him in. I could smell the racing blood just below his skin but I reminded myself that it was filth, nothing I wanted in my body.

Instead, I played with him, enjoying his screams until they couldn't come any longer. When his screams began to come in hoarse wheezes, I broke each of his fingers. I allowed him time between each break to beg me to stop, to apologize for what he had done, to think that I might stop. And then I continued with the next one. When the tears that he was crying dried, I broke his toes. When I pulled his shoulder from its socket, he blacked out for a few minutes, but I was patient. I waited for him to come around and began again. He didn't deserve the anesthesia of unconsciousness; I wanted him to feel every break. And in the end, when all he could manage was incoherent moans, I squeezed his throat until he would never make another sound.

* * *

I stood up, smoothed my dress and hair and walked away from him, lighter than I had felt since I awoke from the burning. Royce was dead; I had won. I left the door to Royce's "safe place" hanging open as I sauntered toward the steps, a smile playing on my lips. I considered it a personal victory that I had managed to kill them all without ever drinking their blood. I took the steps two at a time, feeling pleased with myself and what I had accomplished. That was when I smelled him.

_Edward?_ I called to him.

He came through the open door, the moonlight hanging low in the night sky; it would be morning soon.

_Why did you come?_ I asked him.

He shrugged. "I couldn't let you come here alone," he said. "I wanted to be close if you needed my help."

"But you . . ." I began, reaching for my coat. "You think what I did was wrong!"

"Yes," he said. "But it was what you wanted. I wouldn't let you risk discovery just to get the justice you craved."

"So you were only protecting yourself," I scoffed.

He growled and frowned at me.

"And you!" he burst out. "And the rest of this family! What would Carlisle think if he saw you here now?"

_You wouldn't tell them_, I thought numbly.

"That's for you to do; I won't have any part in that," he said quickly. "Of course, he's going to know. The others might have been coincidences, but he will know who killed Royce King."

I hung my head. I don't know why I cared what Carlisle thought of me, but the thought of his judgment sickened me. I was angry at Edward for ruining my moment of joy. I raised my chin in the air, my eyes blazing with hate, ready to tell him to leave me alone.

"He won't judge you," he said softly. "And he won't begrudge you the justice that you felt you were owed."

"I know that," I spat, angry at him for knowing my feelings.

He looked at me, his eyes soft but calculating.

"You need to hunt," he said.

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but it was irrelevant. Even if he couldn't read my mind, he could see the dark circles under my eyes and the dark irises which became more prominent throughout my long night with Royce.

"Do you want to be alone?" he asked.

I considered it. He had all but ruined the high I was on and I wanted to be away from his condescension and superiority. And still . . . I knew that it would be unwise to go hunting alone right now. I might decide to come back.

"Fine," I said. "Let's hunt."

We walked out of the city and broke into a run as soon as it was safe. As we ran, I thought about my family and the shock they'd feel when they realized what I had done. I knew I owed it to Carlisle to prepare him for the firestorm accompanying Royce's murder. There would be nothing to link the murder to us; no one knew I was alive or that the Cullens had any link to me. Still, it wasn't fair to make him deal with the shock of discovering Royce's body in the morgue. I noticed a faint smile on Edward's face when I decided to tell Carlisle and Esme of my revenge.

We hunted quickly and ferociously, my anger coming out on the necks of my defenseless kills. When we were done, I stood bloody and panting over the drained doe. I sensed Edward behind me.

"Rose?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

I looked up at him prepared to lash at him, but the look on his face stopped my words in my throat. Instead of answering him aloud, I spoke to him in my mind.

_Yes?_

"I don't feel superior to you," he said, his jaw tight and his eyes pleading with me to hear him out. "My words this afternoon were . . . insensitive. I shouldn't have presumed to know what you were feeling."

I was stunned at his admission. For all I'd seen of Edward, he was a haughty, over-intelligent vampire who never backed down. It surprised me that he was taking back his words.

"I'm sorry that you think that of me," he said, turning away from me. "It's not my intention to be haughty. But, Rose, I live with the guilt of the people I killed every day of my existence. I thought . . . I was afraid you would suffer that guilt as well and I wished to save you from it if I could."

I hung my head again, understanding what he was trying to tell me and yet still angry at him for presuming to know me.

"I don't feel guilty," I said honestly. "Do you think I'm a monster because of that?"

"No," he said. "Just because I can read your thoughts doesn't mean I know the life you have led. I presumed to know those things and it was wrong of me."

_Thank you_, I thought, still overcome with shock that he would apologize to me.

"You know, I'm not as bad as you think I am," he snorted. "It's not my fault if I don't get many things wrong."

I rolled my eyes at his feeble attempt at humor. I didn't understand him and I didn't pretend to. _Don't pretend to understand me either, Edward. We'll get along better that way._

He nodded and headed back to the house ahead of me. I was more thankful than I could have told him for the few moments alone. I looked down at my ripped and ruined gown. The broken heart was missing several jewels and the train was torn in several places. I slipped out of the dress and buried it in the forest, covering myself with my trench coat.

* * *

Telling Carlisle and Esme was easier than I expected. I found them curled up on the couch reading when I arrived home. Edward was no where to be found; I guessed he was locked in his room to avoid the confrontation. Both Esme and Carlisle were up and surrounding me before I even opened my mouth.

"What happened, Rose?" Carlisle began, his forehead creased in concern.

Esme pushed my hair back and stared deeply into my eyes. She cocked her head to the side, regarding me for almost a full minute before she spoke.

"Carlisle," she said, her small, heart-shaped mouth twisting down into a frown. "Go find Edward; Rosalie and I need to talk."

Without a word, he kissed her hair and flew up the stairs to find Edward and I was left staring at Esme. It was like she could see through me. I knew she knew and it frightened me more than I could say.

"You killed him, didn't you?" she said flatly.

"How did you . . . ?" I began. "I don't understand."

"You're free," she said simply. "He's not haunting you anymore."

I sighed and collapsed into the chair. All this time, I thought I had hidden my pain from those around me. Except, of course, Edward, from whom I couldn't hope to hide anything. I thought no one could guess at the anger and pain I had locked in my dead heart, saving it up for my time with Royce. And all along, she knew.

"Why didn't you say something before?" I asked.

"Would it have changed anything?" she asked.

"Certainly not."

"You didn't need my input, Rose," she said. She sat down next to me, draping her arm over the top of the couch. It was an invitation and I accepted. I rested my head on her shoulder and let her stroke my curls. I didn't break down. I just rested against her, breathing in her scent and luxuriating in her acceptance.

Suddenly she stiffened and pulled away slightly.

"Does it make the pain go away?" she asked quickly, quietly. "Does it stop the fear?"

I stared at her, seeing her in a new light. Esme and I, until this morning, had stayed out of each other's way. I was beautiful and vain and consumed in what I had lost; Esme was beautiful and unassuming and consumed with the family that she had found. She loved the life that Carlisle gave her and she was content with her "children." At least, that was how I saw her.

That morning, Esme and I found a new understanding. I realized that I wasn't alone after all and that my pain wasn't unique. I wondered how Esme did it, knowing that he was still out there somewhere. She told me that it was little comfort to her, knowing that she was infinitely stronger than Charles now. Something about what he did to her made the thought of him painfully frightening to her.

We retired to my room where, like the young girls we actually were, we combed each others hair and told our darkest secrets. We knew that Carlisle and Edward could hear us; vampire hearing left us little privacy and Edward's gift stole the rest. But it didn't matter to us who heard our murmurings. We spent the rest of the morning learning each other's private pain.

When we emerged later that day arm in arm, we found Edward and Carlisle hunched over the chess set in the study. Carlisle was frowning in concentration, which was not unusual when they would play. Edward, on the other hand, did look different. He looked . . . relieved. Before he continued taunting Carlisle, he stole a glance at Esme and me out of the corner of his eye and I knew that our linked arms were the reason for his widening smile.

Carlisle sighed and knocked over his king.

"You've beaten me again, son," he said, smiling.

Edward just nodded, put the board away, and walked out of the room. As he did so, he squeezed my arm gently. I knew then what was coming.

"Esme," Carlisle said softly. "Would you give Rose and me a moment?"

Esme leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It'll be fine, love."

I nodded once, stiffly, and she walked out of the room with a warning glance at her husband. I appreciated her protection, although it was unnecessary. Even Carlisle couldn't make me feel guilty for what I had done.

When we were alone, he gestured to the couch. I sat, smoothing my skirt over my legs and regarding him directly. I wouldn't let him see my nervousness or guess at my feelings. At least Edward wasn't here to give me away.

"Rosalie," he said. "Did you think that I wouldn't know?"

"I didn't care," I said softly. His eyes widened and I put my hand out to him to stop him. "Please, let me explain. Your opinion of my actions didn't matter to me; it's not that I don't care about the ramifications of my actions on you."

"I understand." He rubbed his chin, thinking over what I had said. "Was there no other way?"

I knew that he would find my justice . . . unsavory. I decided that honesty was the only way I would be able to explain myself to him.

"Not for me," I said. "You see, I heard him that night. I knew that he planned to find another girl and use her worse than he had used me. I couldn't allow that, Carlisle, not when it was in my power to stop it."

"I can certainly understand wanting to save someone else from your fate," he said. "They used you horribly, Rosalie. Heaven only knows how many times I wanted to find Esme's . . . well, you know now."

I found that I couldn't leave him with an inflated opinion of me; I needed him to know the truth.

"But more than anything, I _deserved_ to make him suffer!" My voice was hard and cold, raw from the emotions that had surged through me the previous night. "It was my _right_; I didn't want anyone else to take it from me."

He sighed and covered his eyes, rubbing his face in his frustration.

"I'm not going to pretend to understand your anger or your search for justice. Although I may not understand what brought you to this point, I will not judge you for it. I hope that it has given you some peace."

"It has," I said, breathing in deeply and relaxing. "And I want you to know that it's finished. My death has been avenged, so to speak, and I'm content. I won't send any more bodies to your morgue."

"I appreciate that," he said, shaking his head.

We talked for several more minutes as he assured me that there would be no judgment placed on me for my actions and I assured him that I was comfortable with what I had done. I think it bothered him that I was so unbothered by the fact that I had murdered several humans; he expected some form of remorse or guilt. But I couldn't feign emotions that I didn't feel. He accepted that with grace, albeit confusion. I knew that he would never forget this and it would always be there between us. But I felt confident that he wouldn't bring it up again without due cause. I didn't plan on giving him any cause to remember this, seeing how uncomfortable he was.

I left the study that day content for the first time that I was surrounded by a "family" of sorts. While they certainly didn't all understand me or _know_ me fully, they respected me for what I was and were willing to allow me to be just that. It was what I had always wanted. Why did I feel as though something was still missing?

* * *

_**A/N: Of course, Rosalie's missing piece is Emmett; she just doesn't realize it yet. I hope you enjoyed this look into Rosalie's darker side. Thanks for reading!**_


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